


Death Hath No Mercy

by lordcyanides



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Existential Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of incest, Power Imbalance, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaire hates Irmo, Violence, dark!Irmo, dark!Namo, irmo's nightmare form, namo is the dominating big brother to Irmo, omniscience is a curse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 05:36:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordcyanides/pseuds/lordcyanides
Summary: Miriel's death leaves Irmo shaken, and in his fury he confronts his brother.





	Death Hath No Mercy

The Gardens were quiet. Unnervingly silent and still. Cold. Snow covered the ground and the trees, forcing the branches to bend. Some snapped and tumbled to the forest floor. This did not bother Irmo. In fact, he didn’t even notice.

He had knelt on the ground some time ago. The strength in his legs gone. The Lady Miriel’s eyes were unmoving and she lay. At first, the visionsmaster believed her to be sleeping. Many who stayed in the Gardens often slept with her eyes open. It was when he tried to wake her, did he feel something amiss. He reached out a hand. Something about her felt…different. Irmo couldn’t figure out what is was. There was a stiffness to her that was unnatural to him.

“Lady Miriel. Are you well?” Her head tilted to the side as he lightly shook her. There was no response. She was… A sinking feeling formed in his chest. No. He could not believe it. Namo has finally taken her. Her fea was gone. A snow flurry started, and then became a treacherous blizzard. Tears fell from Irmo’s eyes as he looked upon the empty hroa. He had failed Noldorin High King Finwe. He had failed the son, Feanor Curufinwe. Namo owned her now. Ice ran as blood through Irmo’s veins.  
**************************************************

It was not long when a looming shadow of countless screaming moths broke in the iron gates of the Halls of Mandos; the ever-lasting weeping noises seeming to cease as the fëar of the slain elves shrunk into the creases of the ceiling, terrified at the icy coldness and the darkness that wightened around their necks like a noose.

Namo, their Master was terrible; solemn and stiff; but he was predictable. His brother, however… Even here, so far from the Gardens, Irmo was dreaded and cherished like a god; or rather, a plague god. And now, the moth plague was spreading fast across the vein corridors of the Halls; the Maiar of Mandos only barely managing to make room for Him to pass through as they caught glimpse of the terrible glimmering of dainty, translucent, silken hair; of mad, blackened eyes. 

In all of Namo’s unending years of ruling over the dead, he had seen the many faces of despair; the countless folds of misery. Motionless as he remained upon his throne; trial after trial he had seen it all unfold before his cold and calculative stare; or he thought he had. For the terrible creature that stood there before him; the one distorting his beloved brother’s features looked so overwhelmed with grief and anger; so devoid of sanity. This was not his brother; it was Nightmare.

And Nightmare was frantic. 

“Why did you do that?!” 

With one step, he closed the distance that separated them and grabbed Namo by the collar of his robes, lifting him off the ground in his fury. “Why did you have to take her; now that finally my efforts had started having results! She was mine, Namo; mine!” Irmo screamed at the unexpressive figure of his Brother. Tears were streaming down Irmo’s face, his expression beared no traces of his youthful, innocent self. He looked old; sickly, even. However, in this form he was a lot stronger than usually, and his fingers wrapped around Namo’s throat.

“Why does everything have to be about you and you have to have the final word upon everything I ever do? I could have saved her! I could have saved her…” Irmo’s voice gave in at the last sentence, but his grip tightened.

And yet, despite the force, a chuckle was all that came from Namo, as their darkened eyes crossed. “You came along way from your Gardens; and as I recall, you despise complete darkness as much you despise light. If you had notified me of your visit in advance, I could have lit a candle or two for you… Perhaps I would have made you some tea as well; for you seem much upset…and even covered my bed in pelts and crow feathers; I remember you telling me how nice those felt against your naked skin last time-”

However, Irmo was not having any of that, and rewarded Namo’s misplaced sarcasm with a feral hiss and a punch in the face. The whisper of a blade ripping through the air sounded, aiming at Namo’s stomach; but the death master was quick enough to evade it, and gripping Irmo by the hair, he hurled him against a wall. A cracking sound echoed when Irmo’s head collided with the stone surface; and Namo reached him as quick as lightning, grasping both his wrists in one hand and a handful of hair in the other; pinning him further into the wall and making him look at him. He was not chuckling anymore.

“You dare attack me in my own Halls, little Brother?” The last two words grazed Irmo’s ears, like a curse. He tried to escape Namo’s grip, but he just pushed his head into the wall again and again, until the blade slipped from Irmo’s fingers and the roots of his hair were dyed a deep crimson. Only then did he let go of him, and Irmo slid down with a pained moan. 

“I apologize for that.” Namo said coldly. “Violence was never my element, as it has never been yours; but sometimes it is a necessry evil. Do you find me sadistic? I’d like to believe that you’re aware enough even now to know that there’s nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those lesser fëar, but not you. No. at this moment, this is me at my most masochistic; having to cause pain to you, of all people. But you must understand.” He aproached him and lifted his chin; secretly glad that although still glistering with tears and half-lidded, his brother’s eyes had returned to their usual color. “I never intended to interfere with your work or claim Miriel’s fëa despite your will.”

“What is this commotion about?”A female voice came to interrupt Namo, and both the Feanturi brothers turned to look at Vaire, who had entered the main hall and was now staring at the brothers, derision evident in her stare. Half hidden behind her, the miniscule glow of a fëa was peering down at them curiously. “Miriel, go inside and I will come right after you.” The tiny fëa quickly bowed and floated away. “I swear to Eru, if I find out that you, pestering moth, have stained my tapestries with blood while fighting with my husband, you will not need come here again. I will go to your Gardens and I will skin you alive, got it?” 

“Yes, yes Vaire, thank you very much for your imput.” Namo waved at her to leave them, and turned to hus brother once again. “You see, Miriel came here on her own will. Her fea was hurt; irreversibly so, as you surely noticed. Even though you could indeed have saved her, she did not want to be a part of the world of the living anymore. Thus, her fëa left her flesh shell and came to me; begging me to keep her here, along with the other slain elves. Vaire took a liking at her and made her handmaid. I could not deny her what she asked for, especially seeing that she is a lot happier now than she ever was when she was alive. ‘Twas her own choice. Who are you or me to say otherwise?”

“But… her child…” Irmo protested feebly.

“Oh yes, him… It was necessary that he grows up without his mother’s warmth. Eru has great plans for this child.” Namo’s eyes grew darker and darted around nervously as he leaned in, as if he feared that someone other than Irmo would hear him. “The pieces have been set in motion, Brother. The fall of the Noldor is nigh.” 

Irmo could just moan mournfully as the tears started running anew down his cheeks. Namo had the gift of knowing everything that is, was and would be; and what he had just confessed was the end of an era. Miriel’s death had started a whole round of events; Irmo could see them happening in front of his eyes, as he had seen them in countless nightmares he fabricated. Greed. War. Death. Exile. More death. Torture. Eternal damnation. His Gardens; beautiful, ever-changing, but empty. This is no dream, he thought to himself. The crack on his porcelain skull grew deeper and started bleeding anew.

Namo noticed it and cradled his brother in his arms, lifting him gently and letting him bury his face into his robes as he sobbed. “Come, little brother.” He said, softly this time. “Let me make you feel better.”


End file.
